


Something Old

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, dammit now I want a sticky bun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: Sometimes the best way forward is to forget about the rules.





	Something Old

The thing about Dorian Pavus is, he’s an open book. Oh, he tries real hard --  _ real  _ hard -- to do the whole ‘disaffected’ thing. And maybe that works on other people. But it doesn’t work on Bull.

It starts as little moments. Dorian stares out the window of the car just a little too long, sighs a little too loud. Loses the thread of Bull’s story as they cook dinner. Tosses and turns at night. 

Bull doesn’t say anything. They’ve been together almost a year now; Bull can read him like a newspaper. When he wants to be drawn out, Dorian ricochets between clingy and standoffish, like an alley cat that wants to be petted but doesn’t quite trust you. Bull gets it -- hell, it’s one of the things he loves about the guy. 

But then there’s times like this, when Dorian goes away for a bit, into his own head. And Bull gets that, too. Maybe better than the other thing, because Bull gets that way too, sometimes, and Dorian never pushes.

It’s getting worse, though. Not worse, exactly -- more frequent. And it’s starting to get hard to ignore. Bull’s not one for borrowing trouble, but maybe the problem is him. Maybe this is what it feels like when someone’s getting ready to dump you? Bull has no way to know. 

They’re at the farmer’s market, and after they get their veggies for the week, Dorian’s so distracted that Bull gets away with buying huge sticky buns to go with their coffee, the ones Dorian hates because the fragments of hardened glaze stick to his moustache. 

Now, though, he’s holding the bun in his hand, staring at it as they sit on a park bench nearby. Bull’s already finished his. “They taste better if you put ‘em in your mouth and chew, y’know.”

“What?” Dorian looks up slowly, blinking. 

Bull nods at the pastry in his hand. “Just saying.”

“Oh. I’m… not very hungry. Here.” He shoves the bun at Bull.

It’s too much. Usually Dorian berates Bull for stealing his food. It’s been a week of this, and Bull can’t take it any longer. He takes a bite and chews carefully, then washes it down with coffee. “You upset with me?” He says it calm and quiet, looking out at the park and not at Dorian.

Now Dorian’s head shoots up. “God, no. No,” he repeats, shaking his head. 

“You sure?” Bull almost winces to hear himself ask. Because when did he become That Guy, not taking Dorian at his word?

“I’m sure,” Dorian says. 

Bull nods and takes another bite, a small one, dragging the act of eating the bun out as long as he can. 

“I don’t want to live together,” Dorian blurts out. 

Bull sips his coffee. They hadn’t talked about that at all, but Dorian’s saying it like Bull was about to ask. Which he wasn’t. Bull’s got no expectations. Though the way his stomach clenches, maybe he does, after all.

A decade in the army gave Bull the ability to know when  _ not  _ to think about things. Certain situations, you take as they come; thinking only gets you into trouble. Bull also knows that it’s no way to live your life. Without thinking, he scratches along the bottom edge of his eyepatch, where it digs into his cheek.

Suddenly he realizes that’s what he’s been doing with Dorian. Not thinking about it, taking it one day at a time, one minute at a time. Shit. “Okay,” he says.

“I like having my space,” Dorian says. “I like knowing it’s there. If I need it. That there’s a place I can go, always, that’s mine.” He’s close to babbling, now.

“I get it,” Bull says, because he does. He can understand and still feel the swell of disappointment in his gut at the same time. “Not a problem.”

Dorian nods, swallowing hard. Something’s wrong, though. He’s still tense, squinting out at the park, biting his lip.

“Hey, babe, it’s no big deal,” Bull says again. He puts a hand on Dorian’s back. 

“It -- it is, though.”

Bull is just about to reassure him for a third time, when Dorian speaks again. “I want to get married.”

Time seems to slow down. There’s a contained explosion somewhere in Bull’s chest, and his hand drops away from Dorian’s back. “What?” Not that he didn’t hear. Oh, he heard it alright:  _ married.  _ Even now, the word echoes, a whole world of possibility dancing just outside his reach. So  _ that’s  _ what Bull wasn’t thinking about, this whole time. Huh. And just like that, Bull wants it, the way he could swear up and down he’s not hungry until he smells food. 

Dorian is in full jabber mode now, so Bull forces himself to listen. “Not this instant. Some day. In general. And I know you don’t, and that’s fine, and even if you did, we can’t, because whenever I think about moving in together I panic, and sooner or later you’ll either want to move in or you’ll want to move on, it always happens, and we’ll end up breaking up, and usually it’s no big deal, but it is this time, because I love you, and --”

“Hey,” Bull says, putting a thumb under Dorian’s chin and gently pulling. Dorian stops talking and looks at him, embarrassment and despair contorting his face.

Bull kisses him. Just once, lightly, a peck almost. Almost. “Hey,” Bull says again. “Who says I don’t want to get married?” His voice isn’t shaking, so that’s a good thing. 

Dorian snorts, the sound tinged with panic. “You. Frequently. I’m surprised you don’t have a tattoo.”

“Nah. I mean I don’t want to get married to anyone  _ else, _ yeah.” Bull shrugs. 

Eyelids fluttering, Dorian inhales, not quite a gasp. Then the despair comes back. He opens his mouth to speak. “But --”

Bull cuts him off. “Nothing says you can’t have your own place. We can figure this out. It’s not rocket science.”

Dorian just looks at him, dumbfounded. He starts to laugh, relieved and just shy of hysterical. “God, that’s been eating at me for --”

“Ten days,” Bull said. “I know. I counted.”

“What?” Dorian goes from laughing to fake outrage in a heartbeat. “How did you know?”

“You’re an open book, babe.” Bull shoves the last bit of pastry into his mouth in one huge bite, then brushes the crumbs from his hands. 

“I am  _ no such thing,” _ Dorian sniffs. “I’m an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Unknowable. I’m --”

“Ready to ‘just drop by’ the antique store and see if there’s anything new. Just like every Saturday.” Bull grins.

Dorian narrows his eyes in mock anger. “There’s nothing  _ ‘new’ _ at the antique store,” he says finally. 

“Something old, then,” Bull says. “Hear you’re gonna need that. And something borrowed, something blue.”

Dorian’s face softens then. “I… good god, are we really doing this?”

Bull shrugs. “We can give it some time, if you want.” He shrugs again. “Or maybe we can see if the antique store has some rings.”

“They do,” Dorian blurts. “Not that I’ve been looking.”

“Well you spend enough time there,” Bull says. He stands up, chucks his empty coffee cup into the wastebasket, then holds his hand out to Dorian, who takes it. 

“I do not!” Dorian insists, standing as well. He drains his own coffee, then bends down to retrieve their bag of vegetables. He doesn’t let go of Bull’s hand.

“The owner calls you by name,” Bull points out.

“That’s because I’m  _ friendly.” _

They make their way back to the car, bickering like that, hand in hand. The way they’ve done a hundred times, the way they’ve never done before.


End file.
